


A Hundred Little Things

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Discussion of Mortality, Double Penetration, Erectile Dysfunction, Feels, Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, Kaer Morhen, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Multi, Oral Sex, Soft Cock Love, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Vignette, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Three slow hearts fell into sync and Lambert came, shaking apart as they held each other together, healing after a year out in a world that both hated and needed them.Lambert's orgasm faded, but he didn't let go. He wouldn't let go for the rest of winter.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 36
Kudos: 184





	A Hundred Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea a few days ago that I should post something as my "last" fic of this year. I have too many WIPs, and this one was the closest to finished, so I worked on it today and got it ready to post. I think it sums up this year pretty well. It's three vignettes, each of our Wolves having a not so good time and the others making it better. There's no fighting or pain here, just the small and not-so-small irritations of life that get to them and make them sad. But they always pick each other up again.
> 
> I don't know what next year is going to be like, but I am glad for all the new friends I've made through this fandom, all the writing I've done about these lovely characters. So please enjoy some frustrated, exhausted Witchers getting cheered up by the ones they love the most.

1\. Lambert

Lambert hated the cold. _Hated_ the cold. He tried to get to Kaer Morhen early every year to avoid the worst of it, but no matter the season, that fucking mountain was always cold and he hated it. If it weren't for the two warm bodies waiting for him at the top, he might just say fuck it and hole up somewhere else for the winter. But they _were_ waiting for him, and he wanted to see them.

He got delayed by a contract that took far too long and managed to arrive at the worst fucking time. It wasn't cold enough for snow, but the temperature had dropped enough for freezing rain. For three days, Lambert was soaked to the bone, his cloak and armor offering little protection after the first day's deluge soaked through every layer he had.

Freezing, teeth chattering, muscles protesting every step, Lambert finally reached the gates, Geralt was there waiting for him, his own cloak soaked through. He jumped down from the ramparts and opened the gate, taking control of Lambert's horse and leading her into the dry stable.

“I'll take care of this. Go see Eskel, get warm.”

Geralt tried to lean in, brush together in a small greeting before they properly reacquainted, but Lambert shrugged away. He was so cold, he didn't want Geralt's hair dripping on him, adding icy little pinpricks to the mountain of painful sensation ripping across his skin and through his muscles.

The heat of the hall hit him like a wall, followed by the solid wall of Eskel's body. Somehow broader than Geralt, there was no hope of escape when Eskel set his mind to holding you. Lambert relaxed into the bear hug but did not surrender... not yet.

The doors opened again and Lambert shivered at the new wave of cold that overtook him. It was almost worse this time, now that he had a brief taste of warm. The doors slammed closed soon enough and another firm body pressed behind him.

“Let's get you warm,” Eskel said. “Both of you.”

Eskel and Geralt might be bigger than him, but Lambert was faster. Digging his heels into the cracked stone, he resisted their attempts to pull him away from the warm hall. “The fire is right there!” he growled. Blazing hot and inviting, the cooking fire was mere feet away. Lambert felt the heat on his face, smelled the nest of furs in front of it; the promise of that fire was the only thing that sustained him the last few hours of his climb and it was right fucking there.

But Eskel had his eye on the fucking hot spring, which was a better long term plan, but required trekking through the castle in his soaking clothes. No thank you.

Using their superior bulk, Geralt and Eskel managed to wrangle him under their control, pulling Lambert through the halls spitting and snarling. “You'll feel better in a minute,” Geralt wheezed when a stray elbow caught him in the gut.

“Fire is warm too!” he snapped. It was no use. They were already closer to the hot springs than the great hall and he might as well give in... Going boneless in their arms, Eskel brushed a kiss on his cheek as they approached the door to the springs.

The heat and humidity of the cavern made them all sigh. Lambert put up a token protest as they stripped him, the wet material of his clothes sticking to his skin. Lambert's teeth started chattering again as the small draft left over from the hall froze his now bare skin. “E-eskel...”

“I've got you.” Pulling off his own clothes as fast as possible, Eskel lowered them into the water, massaging feeling back into Lambert's limbs as Geralt stripped too. There was a splash and Geralt crowded in behind him. Held warm and safe between them, Lambert started to thaw, resting his head on Eskel's firm chest.

He didn't know how long they soaked, allowing the heat to bleed deep into his bones, chasing the cold away. Eventually, Eskel pulled them over to the side of the pool and retrieved the soap he must've laid out earlier, working up a lather across his large palms. Lambert tipped his head back automatically, letting Geralt pour water over his hair before Eskel attacked it with a hand full of suds.

The cold now truly banished from his skin, Lambert's cock started to thicken, hips rutting against Eskel's. They were in no rush, but the touches did get slowly more heated. Geralt's hands slid over his back as lips pressed against his neck, chasing the last bit of salty sweat before they washed it all away. The heat curled the hair at the base of Lambert's neck and Geralt smiled, rubbing his nose through the little curls. “My lamb...”

Lambert growled at the old nickname—his baby name the boys whispered in the dark to comfort each other—before turning his head to snatch a kiss and relaxing again, letting them touch and caress him as much as they wanted.

Eskel continued to clean him, but the strokes go longer, more indulgent until the fingers that brushed his undercarriage began swirling over his hole. “Here?” Eskel asked. They were clean and warm now, no reason they couldn't move upstairs, but with his head leaning back in the crook of Geralt's shoulder, Lambert didn't _want_ to move.

He nodded. “Here.” And then Lambert surrendered, letting Geralt and Eskel take care of him for the rest of the night.

Slowly stroking hands became more insistent, the touches no longer lingering, but focused. Focused on wringing pleasure from Lambert's body for the rest of the night. Geralt's hands were large enough to almost completely wrap around Lambert's slim hips before sliding between his legs, parting his thighs. Mostly weightless in the water, Lambert rested back against Geralt, letting his head loll onto his shoulder as Eskel did some of his finest work.

Rough hands covered with callouses and scars were softened by the water, sliding over Lambert's skin like the finest linen. Eskel didn't go straight for his cock, he was too subtle for that, liked to build up the moment until Lambert couldn't take it anymore. As the most impatient of them all, Lambert thought he'd hate Eskel's style of love making, but as soon as those hands and eyes turned on him, he couldn't get enough.

Two slow fingers slid up and down his perineum before stopping at his hole again, gently circling as Eskel's other hand wrapped around his cock, starting the first of his tortuously slow strokes. They knew Lambert didn't sleep with men on The Path—too much risk, bastards who thought the best way to rob a Witcher was with his pants around his ankles—so no matter how much Eskel wanted to plunge in, he had to hold back for the moment.

He voiced his displeasure while he squeezed Lambert's cock. “Mmm, I can't wait until you're ready to take me again. As soon as we get upstairs, I'm going to spend _an hour_ working you open. Until you shake and drip, begging us to stop.” Geralt chose that moment to bite down on Lambert's neck as Eskel's wrist snapped, tugging roughly but just rough enough.

“Want both of you,” Lambert growled. Geralt sucked at his neck, humming his agreement into Lambert's skin.

“You take us so well.” Geralt had seen many beautiful sights in his life: awe inspiring vistas that brought him to tears; elven ruins crumbling around them, but so green and filled with a wild kind life, he could never see them as empty; sunsets over Skellige that made him believe in the gods, if only for a moment. Yes, Geralt knew beauty, and the sight of Lambert limp, spread open on him and Eskel both, eyes distant and foggy with bliss, definitely rated as one of the top beautiful wonders of his world.

But that was for later, when they went upstairs, skin warm from the water, grime of the world washed away, Eskel would tease Lambert's hole open, getting him ready so slowly, until he begged them. He wouldn't be able to take them both until tomorrow, after some food and rest and getting back into the habit of stretching his body in ways their training didn't cover. By tomorrow, maybe the day after, Lambert would insist on having them both, Eskel in front, kissing his neck, sucking on his nipples, Geralt behind him, thrusting away, making them all see stars.

Leaning forward, Eskel bit down on the other side of Lambert's neck, both of them sucking livid love bites into the heat-pinked skin. Later, they'd fold Lambert into bed and fuck him to exhaustion, but for the moment, having their youngest pack mate pressed between them like a flower preserved between the pages of a book, was more important than any purely carnal need.

Three slow hearts fell into sync and Lambert came, shaking apart as they held each other together, healing after a year out in a world that both hated and needed them.

Lambert's orgasm faded, but he didn't let go. He wouldn't let go for the rest of winter.

2\. Eskel

Eskel was not having a good day.

It started well enough, the others were off hunting, trying to stock their larder before the first big storm snowed them in for a week or so. Eskel stayed behind to finish some last repairs. It was always better with two, but the cracked mortar was nothing he couldn't handle.

The patch was perfect, it might even hold until next year, but as Eskel stepped back to check his work, his heel collided with the bucket of mortar, sending it crashing down through the roof of the stable. Luckily, the end stall was empty, but Scorpion, Roach, and Lambert's mare were making a racket, disturbed by the sudden crash through their bedroom roof.

After soothing the animals, Eskel climbed up to the roof and patched _that_ hole. Any other day, he'd make a quick cover and wait for Geralt's help tomorrow, but the dark gray sky to the north mean he needed a more permanent fix _now_. With the better part of the day—and the daylight—mostly gone, Eskel trudged back inside. They'd be home soon and he needed to start dinner.

As soon as Eskel passed through the kitchen door, the unmistakable rip of cloth caught his attention. He looked down at the tug at his side and found his tunic snagged on a nail. His now ripped tunic. It was a fuck of a repair too, the seam popped all the way up to his armpit. In the first positive turn of events today, Vesemir had some mending in the hall and Eskel snagged the needle and thread for a repair. He started dinner cooking before sitting next to the fire, needle in hand.

By the time he smelled the smoke, it was too late. Throwing his fixed tunic onto the floor, he ran to save their meal. The “crispy” skin on the chicken was now “charred,” and the potatoes were mushy and boiled to death. Witchers might be used to all sorts of vile food, but not here, not in their home where they were supposed to have all the comforts the world refused to give them.

Head in his hands, Eskel let the hopeless sob rip from his chest. He just needed a minute, one minute to think and get himself together. One minute to feel sorry for himself, then he'd have a plan for how to save their dinner. Geralt, Lambert and Vesemir were counting on him after a long hunt, he couldn't let them down.

Snow crunched out in the courtyard. Three sets of boots. Peering around, Eskel's heart sunk. The kitchen was a mess, smoke and spilled water everywhere, potato peelings slippery on the floor where they spilled in his haste to rescue ruined food. Panic welling up inside of him, Eskel fled just as he heard the hall doors creak open.

* * *

They smelled the acrid burning on the air, Vesemir and Lambert wrinkling their noses. Geralt pushed passed his discomfort and sniffed out Eskel. The dark-haired Witcher should be here in the kitchen, fighting with whatever culinary disaster he met, frowning over his shoulder at them, “Dinner's gonna be late!” But he was no where to be found. Setting their game down, they fanned out, searching the hall.

Lambert investigated the kitchen, frowning at the remains of their truly ruined meal. Vesemir suggested they stop on their way and finish the rest of their trail rations, leave more time to skin and clean their kills, but Lambert was looking forward to a hot dinner... a hot dinner that was pretty inedible at this point, even to a Witcher's forgiving pallet.

Vesemir examined the needle and thread scattered over the floor. He thought he left it out in the hall, not by the kitchen fire, meaning Eskel must've used it. What had the boy ripped? He looked towards Lambert and the spectacularly over-boiled potatoes and the pieces started falling into place. “Find him yet?” he called to Geralt.

Head cocked towards the ceiling, Geralt grunted. “Sounds like he's upstairs. Heart's too fast.”

“Go,” Vesemir said with a sigh, surveying the area. “I'll clean this up. You make sure he's alright.”

Lambert helped Vesemir bring their game back out into the cold to keep it for a little longer, then he and Geralt went upstairs, following the sound of Eskel's too fast heart.

Curled up in his own bed (when they were all more than happy to lump together in Geralt's room all winter) Eskel had the covers pulled over his head, body shaking under the thick pile of furs. “Eskel?” Geralt's soft voice produced a violent twitch and they smelled salt on the air. “Eskel? We're coming in.” Stopping to pull off his boots and cold weather clothing, Geralt stripped down to his underclothes before lifting the furs covering Eskel's bed.

Eskel was the biggest of them all, broad shoulders, a wide chest, hands big enough to span Lambert's lower back, holding him in tight... and yet, he looked so small right now. Curled into a ball, Eskel ducked his head, trying to get smaller. “Eskel?” Geralt asked again, voice soft and low. “What happened?”

Geralt slid into the bed and he tried to scramble away, only to find Lambert on his other side, similarly undressed, miles of warm skin there to press against him, ready to comfort. Trapped between them, Eskel crumbled, burying his face in Geralt's chest. “I ruin everything,” he whispered, voice raw from tears he was desperately trying not to shed.

“The dinner?” Geralt wrapped his arms tight around him, moving them so Eskel's ear settle over his heart. With any luck, their hearts would fall into sync and the too fast pounding he still heard would slow back to normal. “Eskel, it's fine, it's one dinner.”

“You've been out all day. You were counting on me to be here, ready for you. And after the stables...” Eskel recounted his shitty afternoon, framing the occurrences as personal failings when Lambert and Geralt saw them for what they were: bad luck, normal set backs, and honest mistakes. But Eskel always carried so much on his shoulders, even the task of making a simple meal for them after a long day.

Though his stomach rumbled, empty and hungry, Eskel mattered more right now. “Vesemir, we'll be down later,” Geralt said, knowing Vesemir was listening hard to make sure Eskel was alright. He felt bad leaving the old Wolf to see to the game by himself, clean up the kitchen, _and_ arrange dinner, but the tears streaking Eskel's face broke Geralt's heart. He'd do anything to chase them away.

Blowing warm puffs of air through soft hair, Geralt whispered, “None of that was your fault. Bad luck, it happens. We'll help you fix everything tomorrow.”

“Storm's coming,” Eskel's voice broke, making Lambert whine softly and hold tighter.

“We'll get it done,” Geralt reassured him. “Right now, I'm more worried about you.”

Slowly, so he didn't startle an already upset Eskel, Geralt licked his cheeks, licking away the tear tracks there as Lambert rubbed his nose up the back of Eskel's neck, nibbling and biting occasionally. “It's fine. We're just happy you're safe.” Hands started trailing all over, rubbing, comforting, easing away the tension of his shit day.

While Geralt's hands smoothed down his skin, warming him with their touch, Lambert went about licking and nuzzling at the back of his neck. Once his hairline was thoroughly covered in saliva, the blunt tip of a warm nose tucked under his ear, hot breath blowing across his shoulder just as Geralt's lips claimed his, tongue licking into his mouth. Not to arouse, Eskel knew what it felt like when they were trying to get him in the mood (they were all desperate grabbing and rubbing, not soft and reverent like now) and Lambert's little licks felt like the care he gave after they were done playing. Memories of wrestling together in the great hall, Vesemir shaking his head at them as they all rolled in a pile, growling and nipping...

A sob of relief burst from his chest as he gave himself over to the soft touching. He felt two hard cocks grinding against him, wide, warm hands sliding over his skin, kneading and massaging his tension away. This is what he looked forward to all day—after a dinner that he ruined, Eskel fully planned to take his exhausted hunters to bed and kiss them breathless. Sure, they might be too tired to do anything, but hands and tongues were just as pleasurable as cocks, because that's what he felt against his skin now, Geralt and Lambert doing their absolute best to make Eskel feel loved... make him feel like he didn't fuck up the entire castle in one day.

Lambert's thick thigh worked its way between Eskel's legs, brushing his sac. One of Geralt's hands drifted down to cup his cock, thumb flicking lightly over the head. More tears sprang from Eskel's eyes, tears of frustration this time. He wanted this, them, warm in bed with him, touching him, fucking him... but his gods damned cock clearly had other ideas. Though it twitched into the warm, calloused hand that stroked it, it remained stubbornly limp. He couldn't even get it up for the Witchers he loved.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped again.

“For what?” Geralt sucked the soft lobe of Eskel's ear into his mouth as he continued to palm his soft cock, squeezing the warm flesh. “It's nice like this too. I bet I could fit it all in my mouth. Haven't been able to do that since before the last Trials.” As if to demonstrate, Geralt slid down Eskel's body, licking his sac once, nuzzling his soft cock before opening his mouth and engulfing the whole thing. Even flaccid, Eskel was still substantial and Geralt hummed around his mouthful.

“See?” Lambert whispered into Eskel's ear. “He loves it. I love it too. Every part of you is wonderful, like it was made for love. Geralt can't take all of you when you're hard, but like this he can. You always give us what we need. Let us give you what you need for a change.” Lambert wasn't normally so open with his words, softly whispering and cooing. Especially not with Geralt, their couplings were usually made of grunts and growls, teeth snapping playfully as Geralt put Lambert on his stomach. But with Eskel... you couldn't help but feel a little gentler, he brought it out in everyone, Lambert included.

Geralt's mouth did feel good, hot and wet around him, holding him completely. There were nights when they both pinned him to the bed and shared his cock between them, two tongues licking up his shaft, mouths fighting to see who got to roll Eskel's plump head between their lips. He wanted to feel the quick rush of blood as his cock thickened, getting hard enough to pound into the mouth currently pleasuring him, but no matter how good it felt, Eskel just... _couldn't_.

Geralt popped off his cock and licked over the head. “I can fit all of you like this,” he continued with the soft dirty talk, not giving Eskel a moment to start thinking too much. “But you're still so heavy and thick. Perfect.” Opening his mouth again, Geralt swallowed him down, eyes rolling back in bliss as he sighed, content with a cock that wasn't hard, couldn't do the one thing it was supposed to do. And Geralt didn't care.

Eskel's scent was so thick here, sweaty and masculine, Geralt wanted to drown in it. He couldn't usually bury his nose in Eskel's public hair when he was hard, that substantial cock almost too much for even a Witcher. Though he'd love to spend the rest of the night here, Eskel still needed tending to. His tears had stopped but there was more tension coiled through his whole body. It was time to unwind him.

He popped off again and gave the head a small kiss before sliding up to rest his head on a fuzzy stomach, rubbing his nose through the thick carpet of hair. “Is this alright? Do you like it when I suck you like that?”

Eskel let out a shuddering breath, then nodded, fingers slowly threading through Geralt's hair. “Yeah. I like it.”

“Good.” Geralt nuzzled for another second before dropping back down and licking at the soft cock like a treat. Geralt had a legendary sweet tooth, Eskel had seen him lick honey of a spoon, eyes dropping closed in pleasure... he had the same expression on his face now as he licked Eskel's cock, and warmth bloomed in his chest, banishing some of the tension sitting there.

“Can I keep you warm again?” Geralt whispered, nosing at the shaft. “I'd like that. Hold you nice and warm in my mouth while Lambert takes care of you.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth and Lambert was there, tight against Eskel's side, his plush lips pulling at his earlobe. “Let us take care of you. I wanna make you feel good.”

“But I—I'm not...” He closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose, willing his cock to cooperate. It did not. “Fuck.” Eskel covered his face with one hand, cheeks burning in shame. Geralt's mouth was still hot and wet around his cock, it felt so good, but there was nothing Eskel could give in return.

He said as much and Lambert scoffed, dropped a hand down to stroke Geralt's cheek. Eskel's soft cock was still large enough to be obvious, making a bulge in his mouth. They all moaned at the contact. “I wanna make you feel good,” Lambert purred. “Will you let me?”

“Yes...” Every muscle in Eskel's body went limp and he let Geralt and Lambert manhandle him how they liked. Geralt might be happy to suckle his soft cock, maybe Lambert could take his pleasure from his hole, even if he himself was useless...

Wrapping his arms around Eskel's hips, Geralt rolled them onto their sides, still making soft happy noises as he sucked lazily at Eskel's underwhelming prick. But with the noises he was making, you'd think Eskel was giving him the best fuck of his life.

A slick had slid between his cheeks and Eskel arched a little, giving Lambert a better angle. At least his ass still worked, he didn't need to be hard to that. But when Lambert's fingers didn't press in and start opening him up, simply spread the salve across his cheeks, he frowned. “You can have me, it's fine.”

A bite on the back of his shoulder and a quick pinch to his nipple silenced him. “I told you, we're gonna make you feel so good.”

Once his cheeks were slick and perfect, Lambert's thick cock settled between them, giving a few easy thrusts. The slide _between_ his ass cheeks and not inside him wasn't new. When they were too tired to fuck, they'd lay in a pile, rutting against one another, giving into their school's namesake as they grunted and growled, just wanting to get off before sleep took them... but that didn't feel like Lambert's goal. He was slow about it, careful. Making sure the head of his cock kissed over Eskel's hole, sending a shiver of pleasure through him each time until he couldn't hold back—

“Fuck,” Eskel hissed.

“Mmm, yes.” Lambert bit down on his neck, tongue licking and soothing. One hand curled around him, squeezing and massaging his chest as Lambert continued to thrust. “You feel so good. Look at Geralt, see how much he loves having you in his mouth. And I love having you like this.” He dropped his head onto Eskel's shoulder, hips pumping faster. Geralt's hands latched onto his hips, holding Eskel steady for Lambert as his thrusts started pushing them forward. “We love you,” Lambert whispered, voice hitching as his climax approached. “Doesn't matter what f-fucking happened today, we're just happy you're home safe.”

Usually, when they were like this—moving together, writhing, moaning, enjoying the love only they shared—Geralt was the talker. He mused over how beautiful Eskel was, Lambert backing him up with affirmative grunts as he licked and sucked whatever part of Eskel's body he could get his mouth on. But with Geralt's mouth occupied, Lambert picked up the slack. The usually prickly Witcher spouting promises of love and care made Eskel shiver. His skin sparked wherever they touched, hands roving all over him, holding him like he was the only thing in the world keeping the others from breaking apart.

Lambert's sweet words faded into rough grunts as he came, spend splashing across Eskel's back. “Fuck,” he sighed. “You're too good, all of you, so perfect...”

“Geralt next,” Eskel panted. He wasn't hard, but sweat beaded across his skin, his heart hammering with the excitement of Lambert's orgasm. “Please.”

With a delicious slurp, Geralt's mouth left Eskel's cock, nosing a little before sliding up the bed and cupping the back of Eskel's neck, resting their foreheads together. “What do you want? What can I do for you?”

“Come on me. I want to feel you like that.”

Eskel rolled onto his stomach and Geralt perched across his thighs, Lambert watching with a lazy smirk, already spent. It didn't take long for Geralt to come, the weight of Eskel's cock in his mouth was a heady feeling, the simple pleasure of having his oldest lover's most precious parts held between his lips, keeping him warm and safe... no, Geralt didn't take long at all.

They watched his come streak across Eskel's back, Lambert sighing at the sight. “Beautiful.” Geralt collapsed next to him on the bed, and they both pressed in, holding Eskel safe and warm between them until he was ready to get up.

When they finally tripped downstairs, Eskel tried to apologize only to have Vesemir pull him into a tight bear hug. “Just glad you're alright, boy.”

They ate their dinner raw, which was fine; winter was the time for warm meals but they could manage for one night. Vesemir served them thick slabs of raw venison, grumbling about how they “needed the iron anyway, looking too pale.” There was something strangely sexy about Geralt and Lambert's lips smeared with blood, and Eskel didn't hesitate to lean over and lick it away.

When they retired to bed, he showed them just how much he appreciated their love, and this time, his body listened.

3\. Geralt

The end of winter snuck up on him every year. Yes, the chores and training were tough, as were the weeks they were fucking stuck inside as the wind howled across the mountain, too rough for even a Witcher, but Geralt loved this time with his brothers, his pack, and lost himself in the warm puppy piles in front of the fire, the lazy kisses and slow fucks that could go for hours... But he only had a few weeks left before he'd return to The Path and find his bard, he should start packing.

Geralt got most of his things together, stuff he wouldn't need for the next few weeks, books he borrowed from Jaskier, spare potion bottles, other gear. One of the empty bottles escaped his hand and got lost in his sheets, as he pawed around for it, Geralt's hand brushed against something soft. Ah, Jaskier's shirt, the one he gave him as they parted, “You love my smell, don't try to deny it, I catch you sniffing at me... here, take this, let it keep you warm until you see me again.”

The shirt was too small for Geralt to wear, so while it didn't keep him physically warm, Jaskier's warm smell clinging to it gave him more than a few good nights. Clutching the shirt to his cock, rutting against it, imagining it was Jaskier with him as the familiar scents of chamomile and wood pulp paper swirled around him.

Smiling, Geralt lifted the shirt to his nose and took a deep breath of it.

His smile faded. He sniffed again and frowned. The overwhelming perfume that hung around Jaskier was... fainter, than he remembered. Spreading the shirt open, he covered his face with it, breathing deep. There was a hint of chamomile, but the wood pulp was gone, as was the hint of smoke from all the taverns they trooped through, Jaskier didn't care for a pipe, but that smoky smell was as much a part of him as anything else. And now it was _gone_.

Maybe he was simply used to it, sleeping with the shirt in his bed all these months, his nose grew accustomed, blocked it out... But Geralt spent a good amount of time in Eskel and Lambert's beds as well as his own, returning every few days, grabbing Jaskier's shirt and holding it close. It always smelled like the bard on those days.

Too long, he'd had it too long, and now Jaskier's scent was slipping. Dropping the shirt onto the sheets, Geralt crawled onto his bed and threw the pillows to the floor, sniffing at the blankets. Maybe some of the chamomile rubbed off there, another lingering trace. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes as Geralt yanked back his blankets and sheets, pressing each one to his nose, trying to get the last lingering trace of Jaskier.

“Geralt?” Eskel asked. Geralt turned to find Eskel at the door, worry knit across his brow. “Are you alright?”

Geralt finally saw himself, fuck, how he must look, on his hands and knees, tearing his bed apart and crying... “It's nothing.”

Eskel's eyes passed over the room, his half packed bag, the pillows thrown on the floor, bed sheets rumpled, the whole thing a scene of chaos. “Nothing, huh?” Backing out of the room, Eskel called down the hall to summon Lambert.

“No!” He couldn't see Geralt like this, falling apart over a stupid shirt.

But it was too late, Lambert appeared in the door and took in the same view as Eskel. They both sighed and walked inside, closing the door behind them. “It's okay, c'mon Wolf.” Lambert held out a hand and Geralt took it, letting Lambert pull him from the bed and push him into Eskel's arms. “Stay with Eskel, give me a minute.” With a shake of his head, Lambert made the bed again, untangling the sheets Geralt nearly ruined in his stupid efforts to find a smell that wasn't there anymore. He was an idiot, it was just a shirt, just a little piece of Jaskier when he'd see the man himself in a few weeks.

As Lambert worked, Eskel busied himself distracting Geralt, running his nose up his temple, blowing puffs of air through his hair, soft whispers of, “You're alright, Wolf.”

When the bed was made, Lambert stripped down to his smalls and climbed under the covers, opening his arms for Geralt to join. Eskel pushed him along and the stubborn ass resisted the whole way. “I'm fine, I don't need—”

“Doesn't matter.” A little more (gentle) shoving and Eskel had Geralt sitting on the bed, Lambert's arms around his waist. He knelt down and started unlacing his boots. “Need help with the rest?”

Geralt growled this time, trying to tug away from Lambert but not _really_ trying. “I can manage.”

Eskel left him to it, taking care of his own clothes before climbing in the bed, both he and Lambert eyeing Geralt, waiting for him. They wouldn't let him sulk alone, no way, so they waited, watching him hem and haw, unlacing his shirt as slow as possible. Once he was down to his small clothes, two arms grabbed him and yanked him into the bed. An indignant squeak burst from his lips and Lambert giggled, receiving an elbow to the gut for it.

Geralt was stronger than them, extra mutations and all that, blah, blah, blah, but he was no match against Lambert and Eskel when they worked _together_. Stuffing him between them, Eskel pushed as close to Lambert as possible, pinning Geralt, making sure he couldn't escape. “You don't have to,” he growled again, but he was already sagging, the warm bodies around him, it was too much and the tears he thought he pushed away came back hot and hard, stinging his eyes. Biting down on his lip, he hid his face in Lambert's neck, sucking in a deep breath.

“We've got you,” Eskel whispered, resting his head between Geralt's shoulder blades before stroking softly up his side, rough fingers suddenly so gentle. All winter, they pushed and shoved and played, nipping, biting, it was all a part of their fun, when they didn't have to be stoic Witchers judged by the world. There were equally soft moments as well, Geralt petting the back of Lambert's head when he was too restless, bringing a little quiet to his mind, kissing Eskel's scars and treating them with healing salve when the wind bit too hard, too cold. Yes, they roughhoused, but they took care of each other as well, and sometimes the White Wolf needed the most care.

When Geralt got his shaking, heaving breaths under control and his tears slowed (there were never that many, but the release was needed, good for him even) Eskel kissed up his spine. “What is it?” he whispered.

Geralt didn't speak for a long moment, and they waited in silence, holding him tight and warm until he was ready. Lambert just started running his fingers through Geralt's hair, humming softly, when he mumbled, “I miss Jaskier. His scent... I had some of it with me. But it's faded.” _Like he will_ , he didn't have to say. They all knew the fleeting lives of humans. Yes, Witchers could be cut down like anyone, their lives snuffed out in an instant, but humans... it was inevitable. One day, they wouldn't be there any more, one day, Geralt's dear friend, his lover, the man who walked The Path with him like any Witcher and actually treated him like something other than a mutant freak, would be gone from this world. There was nothing Lambert and Eskel could do to protect him from that.

They couldn't really protect each other from anything, a Witcher's life was brutal, no Witcher retired, and they all expected the same end: hopefully a pyre surrounded by their school, or at the very least a quick sword, or claw through the heart. But it didn't all have to be misery before they got there, no fucking way.

Lambert combed through Geralt's hair while Eskel kissed across his shoulders, rubbed his nose over scars he'd traced a hundred times and hoped to touch a hundred times more. “You'll see him soon. If you want to bring him next winter, we'd enjoy getting to know your bard.”

“Winter is our time,” Geralt answered back weakly, pushing his head up into Lambert's stroking hand.

“So? We can share you. But for the moment, what can we do? What will make it feel like he's here with us?”

Geralt thought for a moment, slightly distracted by the fingers in his hair. “He braids my hair. Like we used to when we were children. He says it looks much nicer without monster guts, keeping it back helps.”

“Have to agree with him there,” Lambert snarked, but his voice was soft, indulgent, the barbs on his words were dulled for the moment.

“I miss braiding your hair too.” When he and Eskel shared a room, their young bodies aching from trials and the normal pains of growing, they'd touch each other—chaste at first, rubbing a hand across a sore back, combing through Geralt's hair, he liked it a little longer even before it turned white, said it kept his neck warm—it was a bedtime ritual they indulged in when they shared a bunk, then they grew up a little more and were suddenly enamored by the touch of lips against skin instead of their previous, more innocent activities. “Will you let me?” Eskel whispered into the back of Geralt's neck. “I know it won't be the same, but I'd like to.”

“Yes, we can do that, just... in a minute,” Geralt said, then pushed his face deeper into Lambert's shoulder.

They stayed in bed for another half hour or so before getting dressed and walking down the hot springs. Lambert floated lazily, never far out of their reach, while Geralt sat on the side of the pool, Eskel behind him. He dragged over a bench so he didn't have to bend as he plaited locks the color of moonlight. He was out of practice, but Eskel's clever hands soon picked up the memory of it, until Geralt's hair was hanging in a long plait down his back. He usually cut it before heading out for the season, so there was more for Eskel to touch and care for. He leaned down and snatched kiss after kiss, Lambert floating over to get some as well.

When they turned up at dinner with Geralt's hair in braids (Eskel wasn't satisfied with just one and made a few smaller ones at the sides, closer to his scalp) Vesemir said nothing. He greeted them like any other night, the old Wolf not quite ready to acknowledge the approaching spring when they'd leave him again, nothing but an empty castle filled with ghosts to keep him company until next winter.

That night, they pressed together, same as always, but there was a different kind of slowness to it, hands grabbing, tongues licking over necks and jaws, feeling the steady thrum of a strong heart. Geralt slicked his cock and slowly opened Lambert, pushing in to the hilt and just holding there until Eskel prepared him and speared him open on that thick, glorious cock. Eskel inside him, Lambert on his cock, Geralt rocked back and forth, pinned between them in the best way, filled and being filled, an endless loop.

Maybe he'd invite Jaskier next year, maybe not. He missed the bard terribly, but some days, he missed this more, his brothers in arms, his oldest lovers so far away during the year. But in winter he could hold them close, lick and nibble at their skin, raising red love bites that faded after a few minutes. It was good, the only good he had in his life for so very long.

They fell asleep tangled together, knowing they'd wake up in the morning and do it all again. For a few more weeks at least, and then, the next winter, and the next, and the next, and the next...


End file.
